


Being Alive is Just a State of Spirit

by voices_in_my_head



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Losers (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voices_in_my_head/pseuds/voices_in_my_head
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Surviving our mistakes is what makes us humans."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Alive is Just a State of Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I wanted to write something The Losers/Avengers, and in the beggining I thought about making Jensen, Captain America but didn't really know how to do that, so this happened instead. I know, Roque is as different from Clint and Natasha as it can get, but I think I made something ... well, something. I'm hoping to post more on this verse, but I guess we'll see. Tell me what you think :)
> 
> PS: I'm just sorry that I couldn't make this longer, but there was just no inspiration (wink wink, writers - go write some crossovers !)

Roque knows immediately that he’s in a hospital bed. What he doesn’t know, or doesn’t remember, more precisely, is how he got there.

He remembers his team, so he thinks that it’s probably another mission that went wrong. (It happens more times than he’d like to admit.)

He imagines Jensen with his computer by his bedside, every couple of minutes stopping what he’s doing to look at Roque and make sure he’s breathing. He imagines Cougar on the chair that’s under the window, with his hat on top of his head, and quietly praying. Or pretending to be asleep; you never know. He imagines Pooch buying him food and then calling him names. And then he imagines Clay passing on the other side of the room, questioning if he should come in or not.

It’s what happens every time one of them gets hurt. Except this time his imagination also puts Aisha in the picture, outside of the hospital, just waiting for him to get good so that they can go catch Max.

He closes his eyes tightly, trying to forget Max. Because if he remembers Max, he’ll remember Bolivia, he’ll remember choosing money over his friends. Over family.

Roque isn’t a man who cries, no matter what. Hasn’t been that man in over thirty years. So no matter how much he wants to cry, he won’t, because tears won’t make time go back.

He breathes deeply, in and out, in and out. In and out.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” a female voice says after a while. “I’m doctor Aline Marrow.”

Roque opens his eyes, well, opens one, since the right one has a patch over it. He wonders if he’ll be able to see from that eye. Probably not.

He nods at the doctor, who smiles at him. She’s young, like Jensen’s young, blond and with blue eyes. He knows immediately what she’ll say before she opens her mouth.

“You’re very lucky to be alive,” yeap, he was right. “Do you remember anything that happened?”

Roque remembers fighting with Clay, almost killing him, and then… fire. He remembers fire.

Still he doesn’t nod, or shake his head.

“There was an accident. A big fire in the L.A. port; you’re very lucky to have been found alive.”

This time Roque nods, because if he doesn’t he thinks tears will start falling, and this, he will not allow.

“You will remain with some scars, but mostly they won’t affect any of your senses. Your eye was hard to save, but we did it,” she smiles, “you’ll remain with the patch for two more weeks, putting the tears we’ll give to you three times a day. You probably won’t see as good as before but you’re very lucky to even be able to see a bit.”

Roque just nods, because what he really wants to do is to scream. Except he isn’t sure to who. To the doctor who keeps telling him he’s lucky to be alive, to Max for giving him an offer, to Clay who was too deep into his vengeance that didn’t realize his SiC was slipping away or himself, for accepting the offer; for not trying harder to make Clay see reason.

When he opens his eyes again, not sure when he first closed them, the doctor is gone and in her place there’s a big afro-American with a patch on his left eye.

“Good morning, Captain. My name is Nick Fury and I am the director of Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate. S.H.I.E.L.D. for short.”

Roque doesn’t say anything or even move a muscle in his body. He has heard of S.H.I.E.L.D. but from what he knows they deal with super heroes, things that can’t be explained by science. Actually, they can be explained by science; it’s just a science way too complicated for him to pretend he understands it. He has no idea what they can want from him.

“I am here to offer you a job as an agent.”

“I just survived a fire, I’m half blind. Do you really think I can be an agent?” Roque says, with impatience in his voice. Except then Nick Fury smiles at him and he remembers all the rumors that exist on this man. On this man who can’t see from one eye (nobody is sure if he still even has it). He feels like apologizing, but he doesn’t do apologizes, so instead he waits for the other man to talk.

“There’s an operation our doctor can perform on you to make you regain your eye sighting, maybe even better than before, and as for your body, with a little training you’ll be back on your feet.”

“And why would you go to all that trouble for me?”

“Because you’re a good soldier. You’ve got fighting skills, good with guns and even better with knives. You could probably compete with some of my best agents in that department, and I have great agents,” he doesn’t say it like he’s trying to prove anything, or even that’s he’s trying to be flattering. He says it all like they’re facts, and for him they probably are. “That, and I believe everybody deserves a second chance. As long as they make for deserve it.”

“So what? I accept being your agent, and all my problems are gone, just like that?”

“No, Captain, not just like that. You’ll have to work for your problems to be gone, I’ll just be giving you a job.”

Roque has a no on his tongue, but for some reason it’s not getting out. He should say no, but then what? It’s obvious he can’t go back to his team, not to mention it’s basically impossible for him to find them. A job with S.H.I.E.L.D…. He’s an army guy, not an agent, but he thinks that maybe he can change that.

“Fine, I’ll do it, but with one condition.”

Fury just arches one eyebrow.

“You get Max out of the picture. I don’t care how you do it, but you’ll find him and you’ll put him in a hole so dark he won’t even see sunlight. Or kill him. I really don’t care.” Except that’s a lie, because what he really wants is for him to be the one to find him and slowly dismember him.

Fury gives him a smile full of promises of pain. “We thought you would say that, so we already have agents after him. It won’t take long for him to stop being after your team.”

Roques wants to say it’s not his team anymore, or maybe even thank the other man, but he was never good with thanks or apologizes, and he doesn’t want to think of his team, so he just nods.

Fury gets up, “tomorrow Agent Phil Coulson will come to get you and will take you to our facilities. He’ll come in the morning and fly with you to New York. You’ll have the rest of the day to get settled in. The day after that the operation to your eye will be made and you’ll have two days to rest. Then you’ll begin trainings, and when I see fit begin your missions. Only when I see fit, do I make myself clear?”

Roque nods.

Fury smiles and it’s a weird thing on his face, because it’s as fake as Roque’s ones. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Agent.”

And then he’s out of the door and Roque keeps repeating _“Agent”_ over and over in his mind.

 

*

 

Phil Coulson is at the same time what he expects and what he doesn’t. For once he’s very different from Nick Fury, and for some reason Roque had thought that every of his agents would look like him, with leather jacket and military boots. But the man in front of him is wearing a suit, not a cheap one, but not one that costs thousands of dollars either (what? Roque’s allowed to know some things), and has his hands linked in front of his body.

Roque has already changed to the clothes he was found in. They’re badly burned, but it’s that or going out in the dress the hospital gave him. Because it is a dress, not matter what they say.

“Agent Phil Coulson,” the man says after he’s finally out of bed. It took some time, but Agent Phil didn’t try to help and for that he’s thankful.

“William Roque,” he answers, because if he said ‘Captain’ it would be a lie and he isn’t an Agent yet, no matter what Fury had told him.

They leave the building together, with nothing on their hands, and suddenly Roque stops. Nothing on their hands. He also doesn’t have anything on him. Where the fuck are his guns?

He repeats his words to Coulson, with swearing and all, because he better find his knives or else-

“We have them, Captain. Well, more precisely the ones we could find.”

Roque narrows his eyes but starts walking again, this time feeling naked.

The first time he held a gun he was twelve. The first time he shot one was two years later when some punks tried to rob them. The first time he killed a man with a gun he was seventeen and some asshole almost raped his little sister.

He hadn’t because Roque had shot him three times, starting from the nuts.

That’s his story with guns and he feels safe with them. But with knives it’s different.

When you hold a gun you have to be damn sure you’re going to be able to use it. Because if you’re not, whoever you’re holding the gun to we’ll know and then you’re fucked.

With a knife it isn’t like that. People never know if you’ll use it, and more important if you’ll hit the target. It’s not very hard to hit the target with a bullet if you know what you’re doing.

The first time he held a knife he was thirteen and he had no idea what to do with it. It was his older brother who gave it to him; because he had been there when he had held the gun and told him that a knife would be better suited for him.

Roque was angry in the beginning, thinking that his brother thought him a pussy or something, not able to shot some fucker. Except then he started training with a knife, and soon enough he could hit a spot dozens of feet away with his eyes closed.

He never thanked his brother, but the first time he won one at poker, first week on the army, he sent it to him.

So Roque always had more knives in him than guns, and that was the way he liked it. Guns were easy to work with, but knives took experience.

He remembered Fury’s words about him being good with guns, but even better with knives. It was true, and he was going to show them.

They wanted an agent, fine, but he wasn’t about to change who he was.

He still felt naked getting inside the helicopter, but at least now he had a plan.

William Roque was a survivor, no matter what.

 

*

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters were big. Like seriously big. He had his own room, where Coulson explained he was free to leave at any time, but they thought it would be simpler if he stayed there in the beginning. Roque had no problem with that.

There were training rooms of all kind. You could even train driving a tank. Roque wanted to train with the knives, but his eye wasn’t good and he felt it was better to wait for it to get better.

So instead he went to the gym until dinner time, since there was a cafeteria that provided lunches and dinners.

He had run, punched the bag and was currently lifting weights when a Caucasian man approximately his age arrived. He was by himself in the gym so he wondered why the man was staring at him. There were plenty of other machines for him to use.

Roque didn’t stop what he was doing. If the man wanted something, he would say.

“You’re William Roque, right? I’ve heard of you. You were part of the Losers.”

Roque didn’t say anything; he just put the weights back in their place and sat.

He cleaned the sweat from his forehead before speaking. “Yeah, and what’s it to you?”

The man put both his arms in the air, “wow, take it easy. Just a comment.”

Roque drank from his water, waiting for the other man to continue.

“I’m Clint Barton, by the way.”

“I would introduce myself, but you already know that,” Barton smiled like he had said something funny, which as far as he was concerned, he hadn’t.

“Tomorrow you’re getting your eye done, right?”

“Yeah,” Roque wants to repeat his question of what’s it to him, but decides to wait. Maybe knowing somebody here isn’t a bad idea.

“Then when you’re good maybe we can train together. From what I hear you’re pretty good with knives.”

“Yeah, I am,” Roque says because he’s not denying it.

“I can work with knives but I’m best with arrows. Yeah, I know,” he laughs at Roque’s incredulous look, because had Barton just said arrows? “It’s weird, but when you see me shooting you’ll understand,” he smiles, and contrary to Fury’s smiles this one is real. “Anyway, I was just going to dinner. Want to come?”

“Sure, but I have to shower,” Roque says, not so much to make Barton go away, but because he really does smell.

“No problem, I’ll wait,” Barton smiles again and Roque is remembered of Jensen. He quickly goes to shower, trying to forget his old teammate.

At the cafeteria they both get lasagna and then Barton takes him to a table only occupied by a read headed woman.

“This is Natasha. ‘Nat, this is William Roque.”

She nods at him, and then goes back at eating her salad.

Roque thinks he might like her.

It’s Barton who talks the most, mostly about missions he had gone on, and making jokes. Natasha doesn’t seem annoyed by it, probably used to it, and Roque doesn’t miss the content looks she sends Barton’s way when he’s looking at Roque and not her.

He wonders what’s going on between them, but since he just met them and doesn’t really care keeps quiet, instead telling them a fun story from when he first entered the army.

He has much funnier stories with his team, mostly because of Jensen, but he isn’t ready to talk about it.

Barton and Natasha, who has already finished eating but isn’t leaving, don’t seem to care, anyway, so he tells another stupid story of his first CO.

It’s already ten when they finally put their trays away, and for a second Roque doesn’t want to leave them. So when they invite him to go watch a movie, he accepts.

Later, when he’s in his own bed, he thinks about how the four people he has known since arriving remember him of his old team, but aren’t really alike.

He wonders what will happen after S.H.I.E.L.D. get a hold on Max.

 

*

 

 Natasha and Clint (screw Barton, the guy is there, he deserves to be called by first name) are there when he wakes up from the operation. There’s still a patch in his eye, but this time it feels different.

Clint has a big smile for him, while Natasha once again just nods, but sends him one of those looks he had seen her sent Clint the previous night.

They eat together in his hospital room; yes, S.H.I.E.L.D. basically has a hospital inside of its building, and when the two leave, he’s feeling better.

Agent Coulson also comes to visit, but only to say that he’s expected in two days in the training room.

Before he can walk away Roque asks about Max.

“We’re catching on to him. By the end of the week your old teammates won’t have anything to worry about. Well, at least about Max,” he smiles at him, a smile it seems he learned from Fury, because there’s no emotion in the eyes, “rest well, Agent,” the last word does bring a little glint to his eyes but he’s gone before Roque can decipher it.

And it’s not like he really cares what Coulson thinks of him. He just wants to rest and two days from now he’ll start training. Start a new chapter of his life.

Agent William Roque does have a ring to it.

 

*

 

Roque’s first six months didn’t pass in a hurry like a lot of people like to say about their lives. It didn’t pass slowly either, it just passed as days.

Most days were like this: he woke up at seven a.m., ate breakfast and at eight was learning Agent’s procedures. Kind of like going to college; if he had gone to one, that is. At midday he ate lunch, normally by himself but sometimes some of his colleagues joined him (he never sent them away, but didn’t really try to make conversation with, either) or Natasha and Clint.

For the rest of the afternoon he trains. He started being able to do a round quick in the air and how stupid is that he can do it in his forties and not when he was twenty? He starts being able to dismount and mount any gun in less than ten seconds. And with his knives… well, even Natasha is starting to have to give a run for her money.

He usually has dinner with Natasha and Clint, and sometimes they go out, sometimes they don’t but it’s okay. It’s a good routine.

 

*

 

Roque has no idea why those two keep coming around, until two months in, he asks.

Clint looks at Natasha before answering, who nods at an unspoken question.

“We were assassins before S.H.I.E.L.D. found us. They found me first, when I was twenty-five. I could have turned down their offer but I was sick of being the bad guy. Five years later I met Natasha, who was feeling just like me. The thing is: in those five years the only person I really spoke with was Phil, but no matter what he didn’t understand me. But Tasha did,” he gave her a smile and for once it was corresponded by the read headed girl. He turned back to Roque, but didn’t continue right away, instead opening and closing his mouth several times, like he wasn’t sure what more to say.

“We all make mistakes,” Natasha says but she’s not looking at any of them. “Everybody says that that’s what makes us humans, but it isn’t. It’s surviving those mistakes that makes us humans,” she makes a pause. “You made a mistake by accepting Max’s offer, but you’re here now. You could have gone after Clay and taken revenge for almost killing you, but instead you let go of them. Letting go is a harder thing to do than to chase someone.”

“What she’s trying to say is that we understand you,” Clint smiles at him and Roque smiles back. It feels weird on his face because most of his smiles are promises of an ugly death, but in here it feels safe.

He could thank them and hug them and all that bullshit but he doesn’t. Instead he goes to a tattoo parlor and gets ‘ _спасение_ _’_ tattooed on the inside of his right wrist. It means Russian for salvation and everybody who sees it always thinks it means he wants to be saved or has been saved (one of the times by God and he laughed in the guy’s face) but he knows the truth. Just like Natasha and Clint.

That’s one of the few emotional talks they have. They don’t have many others not because they don’t trust each other but because it isn’t their style.

They talk about their families and Roque meets Clint’s twin brother, Will, while he introduces them to his siblings. Natasha doesn’t cry when she tells him there’s nobody she can introduce him to, but he still holds her. They fall asleep like that and when he thinks of a night alike and Jolene’s head on his shoulder it doesn’t hurt as much.

The point is, the three of them have become tighter and he even moves in to their apartment, which they share, but not in a romantic light.

“She’s like my little sister. It would be incestuous,” Clint tells him with a smile, “not to mention that Fury would totally kill me.”

For the first time in months Roque’s jaw gets down and he has no idea what to say. He looks at Natasha, “you and-?”

She nods. “He’s good in bed.”

She smiles while Clint laughs and Roque spits the beer he had been drinking.

That first night they fall asleep on the couch. It happens more times than he can count but he finds he doesn’t mind.

Natasha and Clint have become family.

He’ll never forget the Losers, he can’t even if he wanted, but he’s moving on.

Just like they are. They don’t go back to the army, Fury tells him after Max gets put in jail, instead they’ve become a mercenaries team and Roque would have laughed if he didn’t feel that tears would join in.

It isn’t that he’s sad not being with them, or being with S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s just this isn’t how he imagined his life being. Hell, a couple of months ago if you had told them all this would have happened he would have laughed in your face. And then probably cut you.

He doesn’t go look for them, instead he puts all pictures he had of them (all of them sent by Jensen to his email for years and how sad is it he never erased them?) in an album and guards it alongside the others in the apartment.

There are five. All of them have one of their childhoods but only Roque’s is complete. Then there’s the Losers’ and the last one is the biggest. One of those in paper, where you glue the pictures and write stuff around.

Mostly it’s just pictures of some parties; a couple of them, but sometimes a sentence appears. It’s never really about the photos, just a thought.

_“Surviving our mistakes is what makes us humans,”_ Roque wrote besides a picture where Natasha is giving one of her rare smiles.

There’s other sentences alongside their pictures but the one Roque likes to look at most (and one or twice pass his finger through it, but he’ll deny it to the grave) is besides a picture of them three, taken after Roque had come back after his first mission (a month after he had been pronounced an Agent). _Family._


End file.
